


You save me and I’ll save you, but first, let’s pat the cats together?

by Dark_Ruby_Regalia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age difference 20/32, Alternate Universe, Cats, IgNoct, Ignis is a Scientist, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Noctis Catsits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/pseuds/Dark_Ruby_Regalia
Summary: **A note! (Nov 2018)**Hi friends! I'm currently re-working this from the start so I can re-acquaint myself with it, make it better and finish it up. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with it despite my prolonged absence; I'm incredibly grateful, and hope it's worth the wait.Ignis Scientia is a scientist who needs a catsitter while he's off at a conference. Noctis, crown prince, gets the job.As they get to know each other, they realise the science Ignis is researching is of great consequence to Noct's life...





	1. The arrangement.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IseliaDragonwill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IseliaDragonwill/gifts).



 

The young man who appeared on his front step did not seem to match the paperwork Ignis had in his hand. His age was right, but contrary to the Crown City references and an address in high affluence, he shuffled through the door obscured by a baseball cap and a hooded sweater, shoulders hunched up, for all the world looking like he felt himself being watched.

 

“Is everything alright?” Ignis asked, hesitant, wondering what mistake he might have made here. All the references had checked out: some Crownsguard contacts, and somebody from the Citadel itself. It was suspiciously impressive, come to think of it.

 

But once the door was closed behind him, the visitor visibly relaxed: hood and hat came off quickly, and he ruffled his hair a little, took in his new surroundings, and turned to face Ignis, looking at him curiously through the wisps of his long black bangs with eyes that were arrestingly blue.

 

“I’m Noct,” he said. “You have a lovely home.”

 

“So far you’ve only seen the corridor, Noct.” There was a smile in Ignis’ eyes, though none at his lip; he recognised the reliance on formality as a cover for nerves.

 

“Well… you have a very lovely corridor then.”

 

This time the smile did lift Ignis’ cheeks a little. “Let’s brew coffee and sit in my lounge to talk this through.”

 

\--

 

The lounge was quite sparse - only what was necessary to feel comfortable and nested, but nothing more. Despite its orderliness and economy, it felt good to be in there. The décor was warm and classic: lots of polished timbers and well-plumped cushions, a few lamps to add ambience, though they were off in favour of the bright light through the windows, curtains pulled neatly aside, tucked behind hooks embedded in the wall. Of all the details to note, perhaps that was a strange one, but Noct was curious, and in this - in the wrap of fabric around the brass and the drop of heavy cloth spilling onto the floor - he caught a glimpse of the man who lived here; the routines that made up a life. Early mornings, shuffling the remnants of sleep away as he circled his living quarters, pushing back drapes, taking in the weather through the multiple panes of each window, letting light find its way into his home as the sun gathered strength with each minute over the horizon…

 

Ignis sat opposite Noct in the odd chair out. It seemed older, though reupholstered. Possibly sentimental; a comfort in more ways than cushions alone could provide. No sooner had he seated himself - mug poised in his hand - three cats appeared from the depths of the house to converge on him. A well-practised ritual, this: he kept his mug raised high for long enough to let one cat claim his lap. Another rubbed at his legs before sitting square between his feet. Cat three took to the left armrest, draping clear along it, and Ignis gave it a quick scritch between the ears before turning attention back to Noct.

 

“Well,” he said, a little sheepish perhaps, probably less for owning three cats and more for the degree of his affection. “They’re all rescued. I couldn’t help it; one by one they simply showed up, and I couldn’t turn them away… So here we are.”

 

“None of you seem to mind the arrangement too much,” Noct smiled. “All four of you look happy.”

 

“We do alright. They forgive me my absences, I forgive them the deceased offerings on the doormat and the fur on my suit.”

 

“Do you go away often?”

 

“On occasion. By necessity. Frontier science requires it, to meet people and compare notes. There aren’t many in my field, and we’re all well scattered.”

 

“And that’s what this trip is? Meetings?”

 

“It’s a conference. I’m delivering a paper in the first few days, but must attend for the full two weeks. If I can make it home sooner, I will, but until then, I’d need you to at least stop by twice a day to check the cats and feed them, and if you wish, you can stay here too. They’d like that, and I’d like knowing they had company, lest they punish me with unsavoury behaviour on my return.”

 

“I’ll stay.”

 

“You don’t have pets of your own?”

 

“A dog kinda. He’s not mine though really. He comes and goes.”

 

“And you still live at home?”

 

“Yes I guess I do.”

 

“Do you work?”

 

“I work for the, ah, family business. My dad’s in politics.”

 

“My apologies.” A twinkle lit Ignis’ eye over the rim of his cup, amused, and warm, and lovely.

 

Noctis let out a genuine chuckle. “No need, he’s one of the good guys.”

 

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic about following the family path though.”

 

“It’s a lot of pressure to live up to. I can’t escape it, and I’ve come to terms with that, but it’s weird to know there’s this… destiny mapped out, I guess…” Any residue of his laughter was gone. He’d settled his eyes in his lap, at his hands, rubbing his left thumb across the fingers on his right hand. Ignis felt the gesture was important somehow. Symbolic. Subconscious.

 

“That sounds ominous, Noct,” he ventured, without wanting to push for more; offering a statement over a question as an easy way out of the conversation.  

 

“Sorry, I just. I guess I… It’s…”

 

“Complicated.”

 

“Yeah that.”

 

“So why do you want to pet-sit a stranger’s cats?”

 

“It seemed a good way to escape without leaving my city. And I really like cats.”

 

Ignis’ eyes fired up with amusement again. “ _ _Your__ city?” he asked, clearly lightening the mood. What a perplexing dark puzzle this Noct was; the small things he said seemed so much… bigger somehow. This man in front of him - no more than 20 - was at once wonderfully naive, yet well educated. He was evidently prone to dwelling, and was lost to thought easily, yet he’d come back with a presence and a poise - some kind of inherent authority - that might have unsettled Ignis a bit, if he wasn’t in his own home. Or if he didn’t like it.

 

Which, he found, he did.


	2. To live in a house not your own.

 

Noct woke alone in an unfamiliar room to the crisp crease of someone else’s clean linen beneath his cheek. He buried his face in it to block the morning light, finding the faint smell of laundry soap comforting, though unexpectedly intimate, to know the fragrance of a stranger’s sheets.

 

He urged himself out of the blankets to pad gingerly through the house. He almost tiptoed, afraid to make a sound, lest it disturb the feeling that somebody else belonged there, or that he was anything less than a temporary visitor to this space. In the kitchen, clipped to the fridge with a novelty magnet, was a note for him on lined paper. He ran a hand across the writing, its beautiful penmanship detailing the most mundane trivia of upkeep, each letter embossed into the page by the steady pressure of black ballpoint. For all its aesthetic elegance, it betrayed no character until the very bottom of the page, where Ignis introduced the cats: instead of describing them, he’d drawn a little caricature for each, their names boldly declared in capital letters beneath their paws. Noct’s smile was quickly startled off his face by the sudden realisation he was being __watched__ though: sitting atop the fridge, intense and unblinking, was the cat who’d sat between Ignis’ feet, perfectly black aside from the confident flame of brilliant orange eyes. Noct consulted the note, fast identifying the dense, dark scribble with small peaked ears as the cartoon equivalent.

 

“Hello, Ebony,” he said, returning the stare. Ebony barely blinked.

 

The other two cats appeared the second they heard their food bowls filled, sparing Noct hardly a glance as they settled into the business of breakfast. He gave each a fond pat, then watched them a while, before tackling the challenge of getting to know the perfect balance to a stranger’s shower setting.

 

\--

 

If a home contained a memory of its inhabitants - if it recorded a trace of movement that was reinforced with repetition - then Noct’s motions were preserved as a faint and half-formed overlay to Ignis’ daily habits. He chose a favourite mug from the surprisingly mismatched assortment in the cupboard; figured out the coffee machine with a triumphant snicker; circled the windows to pull curtains aside, staying them behind the brass hooks that had so held his attention that first visit. But he deviated, too: taking his breakfast cereal to the lounge, curling to eat it in the crook of the sofa with feet up and a cushion tucked into his lap; sleeping in and staying up late, much to the confusion of the cats; taking over the kitchen table with a constant rotation of paperwork and reports that kept a weight on his shoulders, reminding him he was far from civilian. Still, he tried to push it from his mind when he could, to enjoy the reprieve he’d found here, free from being _known_ , from being _done to_ , from being constantly - even if passively - supervised. Well, that last aspect was mostly true: Ebony was ever in a corner, so black as to obscure all her own features in complete obliteration of reflected light, those gilded eyes tracking Noct’s every move. A spook and a surveillance device disguised as a house pet.

 

After a while he finally reached for his phone and sent a message to Ignis: “Your cat’s a spy.”

 

Ignis called back some time later, early evening. Noct stared at the name on his screen for a a few rings longer than was usual, inexplicably overcome by light nerves, which he hoped would not waver his voice when he answered with a simple “Hi.”

 

“I presume you mean Ebony?” Noct had forgotten how captivating the lilt in Ignis’ voice was.

 

“Yeah, she’s got her targets firmly set. If anyone is watching through her eyes, they have seen _everything_.”

 

Ignis chuckled, and Noct warmed to hear it. “Is all well, besides?”

 

They’d exchanged messages daily before now; formal little check-ins and updates. The phone call broke some new ground between them, and they fell into a conversation that felt uncommonly comfortable. After schedules took Ignis away, Noct lay back on the couch for a while, as inexplicably happy as he’d been nervous those short moments earlier.

 

\--

 

After a week had passed, Noct woke again to the infiltration of morning light through the window, in a room he’d finally become part way accustomed to. He rolled over to fumble for his phone, to find himself blocked by a weight on the quilt. A grin spread across his face as he realised the obstacle, tentatively reaching for the heavy spot, finding soft fur and a warm purr alive under his hand.

 

“Good morning, kitty,” he said, his voice gentle and delighted, though a bit rough for the morning. This was the cat from Ignis’ lap, a glossy striped tabby, affectionately named Toast because she arrived one morning with mysteriously singed fur. There was a sliver of Ignis’ humour in this, which brought him to the front of Noct’s mind as he lay there. Details he never knew he’d paid so much attention to, like the crisp green of his eyes as they focused on a detail, or how steady and elegant his hand was as he poured their hot coffee into cups, or how the top few buttons of his shirt had been undone, and a chain around his neck fought the direct line of gravity over the curve of his collarbones...

 

Noct shook his head, surprised at the reverie. He scowled to push it aside, but on sitting up, found Ebony once again glowering from the doorway, as if witness to the bent of those thoughts.

 

“It was nothing,” Noct said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

\--

 

Ignis had taken to calling each evening in place of the message exchange, and Noct found himself fidgeting through the late afternoons, conscious of his phone, waiting for it. Each time they’d swap their updates first, before slipping into a sidetrack that was easy and natural and increasingly wonderful. Tonight though, the call came late. Noct all but dropped his phone with the haste of his answer, a bright “Hey” spoken breathless into receiver. But Ignis’ greeting was slow coming, laden with exhaustion.

 

“Are you OK?” Noct asked, suddenly uncertain how to proceed.

 

“Just tired. The last few days have been difficult and relentless; the nights necessarily sleepless while we try to resolve some data.”

 

“What kind of conference is this, that you’re not sleeping in plush hotels and eating buffet breakfasts at your leisure?”

 

“It’s… well, we’re here to compare and share information to try to speed a resolution along. It has become clear we’re working too slowly, and must double our efforts if we’ve any hope to succeed. Since I’m the apparent expert, I’m the one person whose presence is constantly required.”

 

“You make it sound so _dire_ , Ignis. Surely it’s not that bad.”

 

“I only wish that were true, Noct.”

 

“What could possibly be so desperate?”

 

Ignis paused a long while, and Noct was about to withdraw his question with an apology for prying, when Ignis spoke a sentence that chilled him instantly to the pit of his stomach: “There is a light-absorbing particle proliferating in the upper atmosphere that - in short time - will blot out the sun. Perhaps you’ve noticed the days are slightly shorter-- Noct, are you still there?”

 

Noct felt himself hollow with the shock of realisation. He understood these words. He understood them _too well._

 

“Starscourge,” he whispered, barely conscious of the phone in is hand.

 

“How did you know?” was Ignis cautious response.

 

“I have to go, Ignis, I’m sorry, I have to go…”

 

Noct hung up. He thought about himself here, in this house, pretending escape from the confines of his own life, compartmentalising responsibility. Then he thought about Ignis, far away from home, whose compassion extended beyond three rescued cats all named after food, to take in the entirety of Eos, of their shared star. With his science, he was trying to save them all. Noct could do nothing but take it more personally than anyone else alive…

 

With heavy limbs and heavy mind, he sought the cats. Ebony trailed him to Ignis’ bedroom; he paused at the dark gape of the door ajar before slipping through it. Two sets of glowing eyes appeared blinking from the gloom. He navigated by them, bumping into the edge of the bed, falling onto it, burying fingers in the fur of warm living things, feeling tears spring into his eyes. He pulled a pillow to his chest and wrapped himself around it, too distressed to question the action, too in need of comfort to acknowledge propriety. He smelled the stranger whose home he’d infiltrated; whose voice he’d grown a longing for. Whose science could save his life, and whose laughter had been saving his heart every day since he first stepped over the threshold.


	3. A little bit of tension.

 

Morning came unexpectedly, and Noct discovered himself utterly tangled in Ignis’ blankets. He was still fully clothed, hadn’t slipped between the sheets, but had somehow found his mind settled enough to drift into a dead sleep, lulled by the soft rumble of cats purring and the shelter he found with face pressed into a pillow. He felt the creep of guilt over having spent the night in another man’s bed, unbidden and awash with emotion.

 

That guilt quickly formed a sharp spike through his gut as he passed the lounge room and found Ignis home, asleep on the couch, all three cats somehow tucked in beside him, curled and contorted to fit the bends of his body. Noct froze on the spot, a strangled gurgle of shock and panic escaping into the silence before he could stop himself. Ignis would have slipped in late, weary, desperately in need of the relief only his own mattress could give, to find Noct unceremoniously crumpled in the centre of it, traitorous in his disrespect.

 

Noct couldn’t move. He simply stood there, staring. Ignis’ glasses were folded neatly on the coffee table beside his watch and a half-empty glass of water; his face - free from interference - was soft with sleep, lashes a dark feather against pale skin, the hollow of his cheek nesting a perfect constellation of freckles. His lips parted slightly with a glint of tooth catching light in a room still resisting the brightness of morning. His belt hung over the back of a chair with his jacket and a pair of gloves; he slept in his shirt, now open a few buttons more, and Noct noticed the chain around his neck weighed down by a small skull. His eyes began following Ignis’ body: the way his waist was a minimal dip in his side; that his shirt was untucked, betraying a sliver of skin between it and his trousers; how his hips sunk into the cushion of the couch; the way Ebony’s eyes were a fierce and damning accusation boring into him from her vantage point behind Ignis’ knees…

 

“Hello, Noct,” came a low, smooth whisper, dragging Noct’s name through an impossible stretch of time.

 

Noct’s mortification was complete. His head dropped, eyes closed in defeat.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ignis, I--”

 

“It’s my fault. I came home early and unannounced.”

 

“It’s your house.”

 

“Even so.”

 

They locked eyes, analysing each other, Noct embarrassed and uneasy, Ignis studious and all too observant.

 

“I’ll pack my things,” Noct said, at a loss, surprised by how sad he was at the thought.

 

Ignis sat up in a cascade of disturbed cats. He rubbed a hand across his face, pushed his hair back and reached for his glasses. “At least stay for breakfast?” he asked, settling the frames onto his nose, finding eye contact again while he stood. Noct could only nod, looking up at him, wondering at which point in these past two weeks he’d fallen so thoroughly for someone he hardly knew, except by the context of the rooms he lived in, the walls that sheltered him and the quilt that kept him warm in his bed.

 

\--

 

Ignis had a quick shower, then came out to the kitchen with damp hair and a clean clothes, refreshed except a tiredness that tugged at his face. He moved about with purpose: a bowl from one cupboard, whisk from a drawer. A procession of simple ingredients lined up from fridge and pantry. Noct was obviously uncomfortable about something, quite separate from the probing looks Ignis was shooting his way. Breakfast was prepared almost in silence.

 

“French Toast,” Ignis said; a statement to preface the air for talk.

 

“I didn’t mean to sleep in your bed” Noct blurted, sheepishly taking a seat.

 

“I know.”

 

“You… do?”

 

“It’s a logical deduction: you were fully clothed, on top of the blanket, sideways across the mattress.”

 

“The cats were in there.”

 

“Why does mention of the Starscourge scare you so?”

 

Noct was completely unprepared for the change in tack. He dropped his fork, which clattered alarmingly against the side of his plate on its tumble to the floor, where it hit with a metallic rattle before eventually lying still. Ignis watched the entire event with the jug of syrup paused in his hand, only his eyes in action as they catalogued Noct’s reaction. Noct was white as a sheet.

 

“Are you alright, Noct?”

 

“I’m fine,” came the obvious lie.

 

Ignis was slow to choose his words, cautious and measured. “It’s hardly common knowledge. I’m simply surprised you know. The fear I understand.”

 

“I’ve… read some things…”

 

“Have you now?”

 

“Or maybe I heard some things…”

 

“I see.”

 

“Ignis, I--”

 

“Please eat. You look like you could use the energy.”

 

They finished in silence, and Noct took up their plates in an eager effort to whisk himself away. A hand on his shoulder stilled him at the sink, and he had no choice but to face its bearer.

 

“I know there are things you’re not telling me. I should be suspicious of your references; of your obvious education and deportment and their conflict with you arriving here hunched beneath a cap and hood. You drive a very nice car and use very good shampoo and you referred to this city as your own, yet you take up a cat-sitting job for some fringe nano-biologist who lives from grant to grant in the nameless suburbs of Insomnia. I get the impression you’re hiding here, in my home. But I trust you. I can’t help but like you, Noct.”

 

Ignis had been a barrage of surprises this morning, and Noct was once again off balance on his back foot. His reply was an inadequate though sincere “…I like you too,” the extent of it thankfully lost on Ignis amongst the chaos the moment had become.

 

“I’m home early because the conference made it clear that every second I’m not in my lab, I’m losing ground. I need to go there now. I need to stay there until late. I’ll come home, sleep, then leave again, for as long as it takes. You can continue to stay here; the house would be all but empty otherwise. The cats would appreciate it... I’d appreciate it. ”

 

Noct had, after being allowed time and space to collect his thoughts, said yes.

 

So he found himself splitting his time between his quarters in the city and Ignis' house, dragging his work back and forth to spread across the table each day and clear away again each evening. Night times he'd lie in the spare room waiting to hear a key turn the lock of the front door, knowing Ignis was treading silent in the assumption Noct was fast asleep. The rustle of his clothing would ghost past Noct's door, left open just wide enough for the cats to fit through. Noct would drift off knowing he wasn't alone in the house, though he'd always wake to it empty again, Ignis having soundlessly slipped away before dawn.


	4. Footsies.

 

Ignis arrived home unexpectedly early one afternoon, calling Noct’s name in greeting as he came down the corridor. 

 

“Is everything OK?” Noct asked, as Ignis peered into the dining room, where Noct had the table covered with a full sprawl of opened books, scrappy notes and half-drunk mug of something long since cold and forgotten. 

 

“I’ve a lot of results to run through, and my desk here is… home.” He trailed off as he stood there, a file box of papers held tight to his chest, hollow in his face in a way Noct grew more and more concerned over as he took notice of slumped shoulders, heavy eyelids, hair dishevelled by the unconscious attention of Ignis’ own frustrated hands. 

 

“Gods, Ignis, you’re  _ not  _ alright,” he said, taking the box from Ignis’ arms and pulling him bodily to the lounge room. “Sit, and I’ll bring you something to drink.”

 

“I need to start analysing data--”

 

“You’re taking a break, Ignis.”

 

The edge to Noct’s voice was commanding and confident. Enough to snap Ignis into a moment of clarity, focusing on Noct’s face: his chin was tilted upward, defiant, his jaw set as firm as his feet were planted, his eyes clear and unblinking, ready for whatever fight came from his taking a stand. But Ignis, weary to the bone, had no fight in him; he deferred with a measure of reverence alongside his exhaustion, mumbling a “Coffee, please,” before willing his limbs to let him sink into the couch. 

 

As he waited, he puzzled further over the shift in Noct’s temper: his easy transition to taking control with every particle of his presence, from the subtle poise and attitude that stood tall in his posture to the jut of his jaw and the clarity in his eyes as he made observation, thought through and took action. He could be so ethereal at times - a dark shadow drifting silent through a room, near invisible - and nervous others, self-conscious about something, sometimes seeming a little distressed. Then suddenly he was  _ there _ , accumulating gravity as he crossed his arms and drew the world to him, and Ignis could do nothing but pay attention. As he did now, when Noct strode purposefully through the room to set a mug in his hands, his gaze an unshakable interrogation of concern.

 

“Who are you,” Ignis asked, though caution tinged his words, letting them fall heavy into the air between them. 

 

Noct was instantly pained, transformed to the young shy man again, grimacing at being caught by a question he didn’t want to answer, nor lie for. 

 

“I’ll tell you,” he said, “Soon, I will, I swear. For now, please rest?” his eyes were suddenly pleading, and Ignis found himself powerless here too. Where moments before he acquiesced out of instinct for the cues of station, he now nodded in the hope it would put Noct at ease, a small mercy to dispel the anguish in the plea.

 

\--

 

Ignis spent the next week at home. To begin with, he set his papers on his desk, isolating himself to run through them endlessly, scrutinising details, taking notes as he went. Noct kept working at the table, becoming attuned to the sound of another person in the house: the shuffling of papers, the slide of a chair, the sound of footsteps up and down the hall. He’d look forward to those few moments each day when Ignis would come to the kitchen for a drink. He’d lean back easy on the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil, dressed down for comfort in jeans and a soft t-shirt that hung smooth across his shoulders and gathered up at his hip, moving with him as he reached for cups and spoons and whatever else mundane task would animate him to mesmerise. Noct could never take it in enough to satisfy his mind; his heart fell each time Ignis returned to his study, leaving Noct alone again but for the infuriating tick of a clock that measured out his absence in cruel fractions of time. 

 

He eventually asked Ignis whether company would help; whether he’d like to work at the table. With him. Ignis had furrowed his brow and wandered off, returning a minute later with a handful of folders and a pen tucked behind his ear, and Noct scrambled to stack his books precariously to clear half the space. 

 

“This doesn’t look like politics, Noct,” Ignis said, reading the misaligned tower of spines. “Have you bought theology into my house of science?”

 

“Magic is a thing, Iggy. Pretty sure there’s heaps of evidence and stuff.”

 

“Yes, undeniably, but there’s a difference between natural law and Astral lore… did you just call me Iggy?”

 

Noct would’ve set to apologising profusely, if Ignis hadn’t lit up with such a warm and beautiful smile for it. There was a spark to his eyes Noct hadn’t seen there for weeks, quite different to his usual sharp glint, cool and distant in objective study. This was kind and radiant and open, and Noct fell right in. 

 

“Do you mind it?” he asked, conscious of the tumble of his heartbeat and the warmth in his cheeks.

 

“I like it,” Ignis answered, his smile lingering. Noct could only reply in kind - with a smile - all words lost to the unexpected moment. 

 

“Back to work then,” Ignis said gently, with a hint of reluctance, as he arranged folders on the table and took the pen from his ear. 

 

Noct, with a nod and a sigh, turned back to the pile of books. They were old, worn at the edges by time rather than use, their titles gold-gilt and embossed into hard cloth and soft leather. He resented them the authority they seemed to possess by their appearance and the antiquated grandeur of their language: that their age somehow absolved them of scrutiny and challenge, their word considered wisdom, and absolute. He pushed down the dread that was filling him daily, set his mind to reading, and flicked through to a chapter titled ‘Prophecy’. Beneath the table, a cat jumped into his lap, quick to curl up and set to napping. 

 

None of these details were lost to Ignis: not the change in Noct’s mood or the sudden loss of his smile; not Cake, his most loyal cat, choosing a lap not his own; not the title of the chapter; and certainly not the Lucian crest emblazoned on the bookplate he’d glimpsed on the inside front cover. With Noct engrossed, he could steal glances quite freely, searching for answers to his curiosity, somehow thinking he’d find them in the soft curves of Noct’s face. And despite his surprise, he dared not move a muscle when he felt Noct’s feet slide to meet his under the table. 

 


End file.
